


All that Thorny Pain. So Beautiful. Or Meg's Journey to Soul

by intoxicatingideassoberingreality



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Backstory, F/F, F/M, Gen, Graphic Description, M/M, somewhatcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatingideassoberingreality/pseuds/intoxicatingideassoberingreality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg's backstory, her life prior to entering the Winchester's world, and the familiar story you have seen but from Meg's P.O.V.<br/>Some things will follow the timeline, others have been slightly altered, bent or deleted at my whim and/or to help the the flow of the work.<br/>*Yes, I  am aware I am only depicting her as "Meg 2.0" meat suit, and I am OK with that*<br/>My aim is to publish at least chapter a month so stayed tuned for more :) Thanks for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All that Thorny Pain. So Beautiful. Or Meg's Journey to Soul

**All of that thorny pain. So Beautiful, or Meg’s Journey To Soul**

**Chapter 1: Home?**

She was going to make it. She will survive.

She sat on the cheap twin bed with tatty comforter. Head still reeling, slightly lightheaded from sobbing so long. Meg looked around her new ‘home’.

“Home”. She tested the word out loud. It didn’t fit, Prison, cell, dungeon, end of the line that was more like it.

The white walls reflected back on her, as she scanned her new surroundings. A duffel bag and two small boxes in the corner representing her entire life.

All her belongings sitting boxed in a corner. They had left her alone to settle in. The house parents that’s what they were called. They seemed harmless enough, a very religious motley couple in their 40’s with a deep southern drawl. There were 6 other kids that lived here as well 3 girls, 3 boys. The rest of the kids were at a Wednesday night church group they said as they closed the door, the house was silent.

Meg’s father and stepmother had just left an hour earlier, promising a few short months and with hard work and some changes she could come home. She believed them implicitly, she really thought it would be that easy. Show them she really wasn’t as broken as they thought. She wasn’t a bad person, she wasn’t a complete fuck up. When they got back in the new model Lexus and drove down the long driveway, they didn’t look back. She had cried, apologized, poured her broken bleeding heart out at their feet and they looked back at Meg with hollow dark, cold eyes. Looking at her like she was some kind of foreign deceitful parasite that they could pluck off and forget completely. Wipe their hands clean, and move on with their perfect lives. But what did she expect? She knew it could never last, it never did. Everyone left her eventually.

She would start her new school in the morning. ‘That was always fun’, she said sarcastically to no one in particular. Meg was in 10th grade and this would be her 14th school. She was used to being the new kid. She was used to trying to fit into the preformed cliques that had formed sometimes as far back as kindergarten. She could always find a group to fit in with, but always just on the periphery. She wasn’t talented, beautiful, or remarkable in anyway other than she could adapt, she could survive, that was her biggest strength and one that no one ever noticed. Her eyes fell on the cheap full length mirror glued to the back of the door. She stared at her reflection; her long brown curls fell just below her shoulders, it was the color of a mud puddle in fall, her usually bright smiling eyes were swollen and bloodshot from crying. What a sorry sight she was after all. She wanted to make an impression on whomever the other bed in room belonged to, maybe she would even like her. It would be like having a sister she never had. With a new found enthusiasm she went over to her box of clothes and quickly unpacked in the small dresser on her side of the room and found her favorite tank top and pajama shorts. She slowly opened the door looking around to see if anyone was around and made her way to the bathroom where she found a small carry tote labeled with her name and filled with generic toiletries. She locked the door and waited while the bathroom filled with the glorious steam, the steam that could help her wash it all away and begin again. Bathrooms to Meg were always the place where she could lock the door and just be herself. She closed her eyes for what seemed like an eternity, letting the water envelope and caress her. She was startled when she heard what sounded like a herd of whining, squealing elephants charged in the house, the front door slammed shut and the shower door rattled in its track. Meg finished washing up and dried herself in the thin worn towel. Pulled on her pajama’s and was about to run a comb though her hair when the doorknob started to jiggle and the person on the other side was banging incessantly.

“Let me in! I’m going to pee right here in the hallway if you don’t open the door!” Meg grabbed her tote, she could comb her hair in her room she supposed. She unlocked the door, and no sooner than the lock was disengaged a bubbly pixie-like girl bounded through the door. “Don’t mind me I’ll be in and out in a flash. Carry on, but would you close the door again? Tony likes to try to peek when we are in here.” Meg obediently closed the door still in shock at seeing this girl barge in and just pull down her pants in front of her. She soon realized she was staring and turned back to the sink and grabbed her wide tooth comb.

“The names Meg by the way…”

“Oh, yeah, I’m Carly, but everybody calls me C.J.”

“So this Tony person is kind of a perve huh?”

“Nah, he’s just likes to try to sneak peeks every now and then. He thinks he should’ve been born as a girl, or something. I’ve seen him when he folds laundry and he holds our skirts up to his waist. It’s not to just fold them right. You’ll see if you’re here long enough” They exchanged knowing looks and she smiled shyly back.

What did that mean, if I was here long enough, she wondered? The thoughts of her parents returning to get her ran through her head. She swallowed hard and tried to put them out of her mind. “Well, I’m done in here. I, I guess I will leave you to, um finish up what you’re doing.” She said as she swiftly slipped out the door with her things.

She was really starting to feel better, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. She happily padded back to her new room and plopped on the bed, her wet hair fanned around her she was feeling suddenly exhausted but refreshed at the same time. She heard the voices chatting coming towards her room at the end of the hall. The voices in the hall started to fade and almost become surreal, it was the daily nightmare she endured for the last 2 years in silence creeping back.

_The typical beige two story house stood, on a typical street, with other typical beige two story homes loomed ominously around me. All the lawns were meticulously manicured. Spots of freshly planted flowers, like drips of red, blue and pink stood out against the beige and green backdrop. I never fit in there. I was thirteen, just discovering the world, and my place in it. I dreaded going home to that house. It always felt so cold with its white walls and contemporary design. The paintings that hung on the walls were abstract blobs of gold, purple and green. Everything had its place, everything but me. I had my own room, which my mother had decorated for me in teal, pink and blue. The comforter matched the art, and the carpet was another sea of beige Pyle. There were white walls everywhere; they almost seemed to swallow you at times. I had planned on staying in my white walled prison all night; my mother was gone for the weekend. Who knows where she was going, probably another business trip. Even when she was home she was distant. The dog barked, and I heard the garage door open. A new Ford F-150 pulled in, my step dad was home. I quickly got up and closed the half open door to my room; I knew he would be mad; I forgot to walk the dog again. This time there would be no escape. Little did I know that my whole world was about to shift. He called for me. I pretended not to hear him. I lay in bed with the covers over my head, feigning sleep. He called for me again, his voice sounding ever more impatient, and once more I gave no answer. My body tensed reflexively as I heard him pounding up the stairs, intolerantly thudding towards my room. The door flew open and hit the wall behind it. I forced my breathing to become slow and deep. My eyes closed and I prayed, to no one in particular, that he would just go away. My prayers were not answered that day. There was only silence which seemed to last a lifetime. The quiet was then shattered by a blow to the back of my head. I opened my eyes and all I could see through the tears that had started to form and stream down her face was a small clay candle with an Indian girl painted on it. It smelled like mango. The candle was sitting on the nightstand next to my bed. I could hear him yelling, but the sound seemed so far away. I tried to curl in a ball. I thought if I didn't further antagonize him he would get bored. You know; play possum. The throbbing and pain in my head intensified. My hands were hot and wet with tears. He hit me again, which was when I started pleading with him to stop. He was still yelling. This time I could hear what he was saying. He was telling me what a stupid, worthless, kid I was. What a lazy bitch, a stupid fucking whore, an ungrateful piece of shit. I had heard all of this many times before. But somehow, this time it was different. It was as if his words were red hot daggers cutting into my flesh. "I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry" I continued to plead with him to stop. This only made him angrier, he knew he had won this time. Then out of the blue he grabbed my breast and squeezed hard. My head reeled, I tried to push him away in confusion; he's never done that before? He tried to push his thick rough hand down my pants and I slapped him hard across the face. I tried to get up, but he only pushed me back, seemingly effortlessly. The look in his eyes changed and that scared me more than anything else he had ever done. Suddenly I knew what was going to happen; I fought this influx of visions as best I could. My head felt light, and I was dizzy. The Indian girl on the candle sat motionless staring back at me; I could have sworn there was a single tear running down her face. He was holding me down now; he was on top of me, around me, and then suddenly in me. I felt his rhythmic thrusts taking away more and more of me with each one. I felt shredded, from the inside out. I felt the white walls close in on me again. It was getting dark. One final deep long thrust which took my breath away, and he was done. He left his pants there on the floor and got up. He went towards the door, turning to give me a devious smile, and a look that cut right through me deep into my soul. A few seconds later I heard the door to his room shut, and I tried to get up, feeling the urge to run. My knees weakly holding me up, trembling and stumbled across the hall to the bathroom, my legs still uncooperative. I locked the door, collapsing in a heap of tears. I stayed there on the floor crying for what seems like a decade. I was numb, angry, confused, sore, dirty, and ashamed. I brushed the hair away from my eyes. It was stuck in tears that had already begun to dry and it made my face feel tight. I got up and saw what I could only guess was my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were red and swollen. I rubbed my thighs which ached; they were sticky with a pink tinged mixture of semen and smeared blood. My wrists were starting to tingle as the flow of blood returned to them slowly. I stumbled towards the tub and turned on the water as hot as it would go._

_Wash it all away….._

The radio next to the bed sounded, ripping her from the dream and slamming her back into reality. She open her eyes and felt panicked for a brief moment before she remembered where she was. Sluggishly she rolled up to sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing her eyes and mentally brushing away the dream. The pixie girl from the bathroom was sleeping still in the bed next to her. She nodded to herself, “so that’s who my roommate is. I can deal with it”.

She silently got dressed, trying on 3 different outfits before deciding on her Nirvana tank, a flannel shirt and her JNCO jeans. She laced up her black Doc Martin combat boots and assessed herself in the mirror. Flipping her hair upside down and shaking out her long curls, she stood again peering at the face reflected back, shrugged grabbed her nearly empty backpack with band patches covering it and headed out to find the kitchen.

She took a deep breath and rounded the corner that lead to the great room and industrial looking kitchen. Two small kids happily eating a bowls of cereal and chatting quietly became silent and watched her suspiciously as she entered the room.

“Um, good morning?” Meg said shyly.

“You have really curly hair, it looks like bed springs” said the girl with a wide innocent smile. She was maybe 6.

“Well, thanks, I think” Meg said returning her smile.

“You can pick your cereal over there, and the bowls and cups are there.” the boy said gesturing towards the far end of the kitchen. “I’m Ezekiel, but I hate that name, just call me Ziggy, this is my little sister April. Who are you?” He couldn’t be more than 10, but spoke with certainty and a sort of authority beyond his age.

“Megan, Meg I uh moved in yesterday”

“Are your parents dead, or just bad people? Our parents liked to poke themselves with needles and they died a long time ago.” April said matter-of-factly, and her heart suddenly felt heavy for this small little girl. Her pained expression must have shown and Ziggy elbowed April harshly. “Shh, I’ve told you before don’t talk about them; and it’s rude to ask other people about their parents.”

April looked up apologetically at me “Sorry” she mumbled.

They mostly ate the rest of breakfast in silence. She was just putting her bowl in the sink when C.J. appeared her short hair still sticking up all over from sleep; still pulling on her clothes in a rush, she came sliding across the kitchen floor. She grabbed a banana, stuck it in her pocket and looked back at me. “You ready? The bus will be here in a few minutes, we got to go or they will leave us and we will have to walk to school.”

 


End file.
